


Son of the First Son

by violet_scythe



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Pederasty, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-04-12 19:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4491057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet_scythe/pseuds/violet_scythe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in Greece (very liberally) on the isle of Gotham is the army of the Yioi tou, the sons of the Amazons. After the death of Bruce, Kal El and most of their army the Son of the First Son, Wayne, has ended. It’s left up to Bruce’s remaining adopted children, Dick and Tim to keep the remaining Yioi tou together. Until Queen Diana unveils Damian, Bruce’s son, who had been hidden on the Amazonian island for ten years. This story follows Damian and Dick’s rise to the head of the Yioi tou, their growing relationship, animosity of family and warriors alike and finally the return of Bruce. Hang on to your panties this is going to be one bumpy ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a m/m fic. Don't like don't read and don't fucking cry to me. This is set in (liberal) Greece so don't expect historically accuracy of any kind. I'm making it up as I go and I didn't change anyone's names because I'm fucking lazy.  
> As always, visit me on tumblr: http://violetscythe.tumblr.com/

Dick watched as the shadows lengthened across the ground as Helios drove the Sun beneath the horizon. Once the moon reached the peak in the sky and the Goddess Artemis gazed upon them with the huntress’s eyes he would take his vows to the Son of the First Son.

He took a deep breath and exhaled the humid summer air as he tipped his head back and basked in the dying rays, enjoying the punishing heat on his skin.

“Son of Gray, it is time.”

Dick took one last lingering breath and turned to the old man behind him and gave a tight smile. “Alfred.”

Alfred smiled at him; his brown eyes drooped at the corners in sadness. “Let’s get you ready for your troth, Richard.” He turned slightly; his wiry browned arm parted the curtain of the large tent erected just for this purpose.

Dick nodded and ducked under the parting and entered the large enclosure, Alfred behind him, tightly binding the flaps closed. They wouldn’t be opened again until the Goddess’s eye rose in the sky.

He looked around him; bright rugs were thrown over the ground, their swirling patterns of reds and golds depicting the Gods and follies of men.

“Where do you want me, Alfred?” He smiled, arms outstretched, twirling in a circle, enjoying the way his chiton swished against his knees.

Alfred’s lips twitched as he motioned to the woven pallet on the floor as he gathered his bowls and powders.

Dick let his smile fall as he eyed the pallet in the center of the tent and what it would mean to lie there.

They were the Yioi tou. The sons of the Oiorpata, a powerful clan of women who were blessed by all the female Goddesses and even the God of War himself, Aries. The Oiorpata were strong, ruthless and powerful. They were feared and respected throughout all of Greece for their battle prowess and deep philosophy.

They were a race of women for women. They would allow no man into their home of Themyscira, not even their own sons.

Dick slowly unclipped the scarred and beaten bronze broach hooked at his shoulder that denoted him as the General of the Yioi tou. He carefully rubbed the raised intertwining symbols against the pad of his thumb enjoying the feel of the slightly warmed metal against his fingers.

His father’s troth had once worn this, as many others had before him. Kal El had been the most beloved and trusted among all the men, not only for his strength and kindness, but also for his wisdom. It hadn’t hurt he’d been their strongest fighter, either.

As their voted representative of the Yioi tou, Kal El had pledged his troth to his father, Bruce, the Son of the First Son.

It harkened back to the time before time, when the first Oiorpata were created by the great Goddesses. They were made from clay, forged by their mothers to be without equal. They were shaped and formed in the sands of Themyscira and brought to life by the breath of the Gods. Until one day a Daughter of the Oiorpata fell in love with a human man and lay with him.

The Goddesses were angered greatly at their wayward Daughter to flaunt all her gifts and waste them on man. As punishment for her crime they cursed their women to feel pain as they birthed a child into this world since this was a battle like any other, why shouldn’t they bleed? They also rescinded their gift of life from the clay and now all Oiorpata had to lie with man to gain more Daughters.

Daughters were not all the Oiorpata gained. Laying with man also created more men, but they could not allow their sons to roam free in the world and spread the seed of the Oiorpata to make others great. They also could not allow them to stay on Themyscira, so as not to incur more wrath, they had to find a home for their kin. 

The First Son was called Wayne and they took him to a close island and taught him the arts of war, politics and survival. They also taught him loyalty to his mothers. He named this isle Gotham.

As Wayne grew, more sons came to the isle of Gotham and he took to raising and teaching his brothers, even those who came from the cities the Oiorpata conquered.

Soon, a rival clan attacked the Oiorpata. The war raged years and before long the clan was close to being wiped out.

Wayne, burning to use the teachings of his mothers, led his band of men and joined forces with his mothers and crushed the invading forces.

Hephesta, the Queen of the Oiorpata, gathered the men and bestowed upon them the name Yioi tou, the Sons.

From then on the women who were of age would come to the isle of Gotham twice a year and lay with the Sons to breed a new generation. To fight poisonous blood and deformities they would also bring boys from raids on other cities. Sometimes the Yioi tou would send a group of men who would go from village to village, city to city, recruiting young boys who had the potential to join them.

Dick himself was the result of such a search.

“Please lay down, Richard.” Alfred’s voice drove through his mind’s wanderings as he winced, uncurling his clutching fingers from around the broach.

Dick quickly untwisted his belt and let the rest of his chiton drop to the floor. He watched Alfred gather up his clothes and tuck them away in a corner as he slowly spread his body onto the pallet beneath him. He pillowed his head on his arms and slowly let his breathing take him deep into a meditative state.

Alfred kneeled beside him, his brushes, needles and paints all laid out like soldiers on the field of battle.

Dick closed his eyes.

Alfred would decorate his body with colored swirls and designs to denote his clan and position. His history. So his worthiness could be read upon his skin. Then he would add the silver. The color of the mighty Goddess, the mark of his troth, his vow, to the Son of the First Son.

He felt the old man’s hand softly brush against his brow in a light caress as he used to do when he was younger and just a boy. Dick had to screw his eyes tightly shut to keep from weeping at that familiar touch.

Alfred’s voice was low and rough, almost as if he too had a hard time keeping the past from overwhelming their future. “Are you ready, Richard?”

Dick’s throat moved tightly and he couldn’t force the words out past his clenched teeth and instead just nodded tightly, head turning away from the older man.

He heard a sigh and the tinkling of pots. “Then let us begin.”

Over time the Yioi tou grew larger with more men from the other realms coming to live with them. There were naturally many collisions of culture and beliefs. The outsiders and the native born Yioi tou rubbed together wrong and that eventually caused a rift in the isle of Gotham that could not simply be mended with words.

The leader of the Yioi tou, a Wayne, descended from the First Son, came up with a solution to stop the bloodshed.

He would make a troth to the leader of the outside men and they would both be binded by vows in front of the Goddess and rule the Yioi tou together, never to forsake one another, and as they became one, so would their people. Of course their vow made leeway for the twice yearly meeting of the Oiorpata.

Ever since the first troth a Son of the First Son had bound themselves to the chosen leader of the men.

Just as his father, Bruce, had done with Kal El.

Dick remembered first meeting Bruce when the Yioi tou had come to visit the orphanage he’d been forced into when his parents had been murdered. He remembered watching them from the trees as they rode past, eyes glued to the man wrapped in black with the symbol of a golden winged animal across his chest.

He also remembered how much the priests had hated him. Their lips curling upwards in disgust as their eyes filled with fear.

That, more than anything, had made Dick love Bruce even before he heard his voice. The priests were not kind to the orphaned boy of heathens who had died without family and recourse and leaving a child behind to burden them.

He knew his hiding places well, he wasn’t seen when he didn’t want to be seen. He was sure, quick footed and silent. He had enough practice hiding from the priests to be arrogant in his skills. Until Bruce tipped his head upward from the back of his horse, blue eyes boring straight into his and asking him if he’d like to come with him.

Dick had been floored, frozen in the tree’s branches until he heard the priests’ screeching at the group of men that they couldn’t take him. He was unruly, a heathen, unworthy.

Bruce had flicked his wrist and imbedded a metal star into a priest’s eye noting that the next one would take out one of their tongues.  
“So,” Bruce once again looked upwards into the trees, his men circling around him as the priests whimpered around their injured brother, “are you coming?”

Dick had shuffled his feet beneath him and launched himself into the air, flipping over to land on the back of the black man’s horse.

Bruce had to swivel to get a good look at him, his face twisting in concealed laughter, “A performer, wonderful.”

Dick had never had a reason to regret his decision.

He had been welcomed on the isle of Gotham. Bruce had taken a special interest in him, brought him into his home with Kal El and raised him.

He had been there when he brought home Jason and Tim. He still remembered when Lois had placed Connor in Kal El’s arms. The pride and the fear in them as he held the tiny boy.

He had lost a family, but gained another, even if it wasn’t by blood. He had many friends and his two brothers that he loved dearly. He learned to fight and hunt. How to lead and war strategy. It had been a good life. When he reached the age of fourteen and became a man he participated in the yearly ritual with the Oiorpata.

Some would think being taken in by a Wayne, the Son of the First Son, his life would have been easier. They would have been wrong.

Bruce was a hard taskmaster. As the leader he was expected to be strong, to be the best and Dick had to prove himself as better, faster, stronger than all the others. He would have done it all just for Bruce’s nod of approval.

The problem was Bruce was the last Wayne. His father, Thomas, had been killed out on a campaign when he was a young boy. Bruce had never quite gotten over that loss. As the last Son of the First Son he had to take his father’s place and had to pledge his troth to keep the vows between the people.

Alfred had told him that Bruce had kept the men twisted around for two years, playing them off one another, trying to wait longer until he had a power base beneath him. The last thing he wanted was to be tied to a man he couldn’t trust, one that was too old, since he himself was only ten. Bruce had eventually ran out of time and a man had been chosen.

Bane had been a brute of a man and bullied his way to the title of General just by his sheer force and size. He was not kind and had broken Bruce’s bones on more than one occasion in ‘training accidents’.

Bane hadn’t been chosen out of respect, but out of fear, and Bruce, as young as he was, was no match for him physically at twelve.

All of that changed of course when a fifteen-year-old Kal El had finally had enough and on the eve of the troth, challenged Bane and killed him.

Bruce and Kal had been together ever since.

Alfred also told him stories about their first couple years. It had been rocky with Kal El trying to win Bruce’s trust and Bruce just being a regular porcupine. Eventually they worked everything out and their bond had been strong and the Yioi tou and grown even stronger.

Until this last campaign.

Dick hissed in a breath as a needle punctured his skin at the nape of his neck.

“Richard?” Alfred’s worried voice soothed his ears.

“It’s okay, Alfred, keep going.”

He felt Alfred nod and continued chiseling into his back. He could feel the sting of the silver paint wet against the open wounds of the needle digging into his flesh. It almost felt like blood.

Dick took a few more steady breaths and tried to quiet his mind.

The Spartans had recently been encroaching on the Oiorpata’s territory. Bruce had been dispatched with a large number of the Yioi tou to take care of their main army. The campaign was successful, but only a quarter of the men returned. Bruce and Kal El had not been among them. 

Dick had to slow the beating of his heart at the memory as the pain squeezed his chest in an iron grip and wouldn’t let go. Bruce and Kal were not the only family he had lost that day. Jason, Wally and many others had been taken as well. He was lucky Connor and Tim had returned at all.

If it hadn’t been for a coughing sickness he would have ridden out with them. He would have died with them.

He could feel tears prick at his eyes as his inner voice whispered poison in his ears. It would have been better to have died with them instead of being left behind again. Who knows, maybe he could have saved some of them. Maybe Bruce would still be here even if he wasn’t. If he could offer his life for his father’s he would do it in a heartbeat, but bargains with Gods rarely went well and were never what the wisher had intended.

With the return of the Yioi tou and the disappearance of Bruce, there had been no Wayne. No Son of the First Son-no leader.

It had been chaos.

Dick, Victor, Conner, Tim, Connor and a few of his other friends had held everything together by a sheer force of will. It was a tentative peace. One that you could feel heating up under your feet ready to explode at any moment.

Then Queen Diana had come to the isle of Gotham.

She had appeared with her female shield guards. She was tall and bronzed. Her hair was wild like black fire, blue eyes clear and blazing. She was beautiful with her high cheekbones, straight nose and oval face. She wore long white robes trimmed with gold and light armor wrapped around her chest and arms.

Dick had never been in her presence before, but he had heard Bruce and Kal El describe her. They hadn’t quite done her justice, but he knew they were right about one thing. No matter how she dressed no one would ever mistake her for anything other than a warrior.

She had glided into the middle of their camp, her shield guards behind her as she addressed the men.

“I have been made aware of the sacrifice of Wayne and many others of the Yioi tou. I know you have been through great loss, as have your mothers. However, Bruce was not the last Wayne.”

A dull murmur had spread through the men as Dick had watched her with hope and weariness in his eyes. Bruce had never spoken to him about having any children. It had been a bone of contention between him and Kal El. A worry for another day.

The Queen had raised a fist in the air to quiet them and they listened. “One of my shield guards lay with Wayne ten years ago and gave birth quietly to a son.”

The murmur became a dull roar.

Diana’s face became slightly pinched, “This was concealed from Us and the boy had been hidden on Themyscira ever since.”

Now men were openly shouting and some making signs of warding.

“This heresy has been avenged and now we bring the boy to you. This is his place. He is the last Wayne. It can never bring back the one’s you have lost, but maybe it can start to repair some of the damage as we look forward to the future.”

Dick couldn’t focus and soon became aware that Tim and Connor stood at his side, taking on his weight as he leaned into them. They never looked at one another, too focused on the shield guards as they parted to reveal a small boy with dark hair, dark skin and Bruce’s blue eyes.

He was short for his age. He held himself regally, as if he were a prince, his face tipped slightly upward in disdain.

Dick took it in. His small face, upturned nose, short black hair and tightly muscled body from active military training. And Bruce’s eyes. Those blue, blue eyes.

How could this have happened? How could a woman, a shield guard no less, have hidden her son, Bruce’s son on Themyscira? Let alone for ten years!

Ten years. Dick’s eyes never wavered from the boy as he stood proudly surrounded by Oiorpata. Ten years that he could have spent with them. With Bruce.

Sadness flooded him in waves.

Ten years, Bruce could have taught this boy so many things. Sword fighting, horseback riding, pranks with Kal El and eating honey from the comb as a sweet treat after a hard day of training.

He’d never know Bruce’s soft smiles when he thought his sons weren’t looking. Or Kal El’s loud laughter. Jason’s dry wit or that he liked to sing lullabies to the young boys and had a voice that would make the Gods weep. Tim’s smiles and jokes that were now permanently wiped from his face.

Overwhelming anger replaced sadness as Alfred stepped forward to claim the boy. Ten years Bruce could have known his son. Ten years that woman had stolen from them.

He couldn’t do it anymore. The stress from holding the Yioi tou together, the strained relationship with Tim, Bruce and Kal El’s deaths and now this-this boy with Bruce’s eyes-he couldn’t. He couldn’t take it any longer. He turned and walked away.

He hadn’t learned the boy’s name until months afterward.

Damian.

Bruce would have named him Thomas. After his father. Even that was taken from him.

It was probably petty of him, but he avoided the child. He heard tales of his extreme fierceness, his inability to relate with others or just give a damn if he accidently hurt anyone during training. He broke people like others broke bread. Easily and with contempt. 

He was vicious. The men said. Violent. Arrogant. Psychopathic. Cursed. The reason why men couldn’t stay on Themyscira. A Wayne. The last Wayne, but a crazed one.

He ignored Alfred and Tim’s pleas to at least meet the boy. Alfred thought it would do Damian good and Tim just couldn’t handle him. Didn’t like him since he had beaten him at their first meeting.

It had been completely by accident that they had met at all.

Dick had been on his way to the pools to clean himself after a hard days labor and had decided to take a walk along the sands of the beach before he gave into the need for a bath.

He had walked to the water’s edge, enjoying the Ocean lapping at his ankles and the give in the sand. It was then he noticed something bobbing against the waves. A dark spot that shouldn’t be.

He narrowed his eyes and raised a hand to ward off the light as he tried to focus his gaze. He sucked in a breath as he saw a hand arch through the water and didn’t hesitate to dive in.

One of the boys must have taken a dare and gotten swept out too far to make it back.

He let his arms slice easily through the waves as they crashed into him, eyes desperately scanning the horizon for the small bobbing hand as his mind whirled. If he didn’t reach the boy soon the tide would be too strong for them to make it back to shore, maybe even forceful enough to drag them out to sea.

There! A flash to his left as he watched a wave crash over a small dark head and he dove. His eyes squinted against the inky darkness of the depths of the water as he quickly calculated where the body would be. Arms outstretched as frantically grabbed for the boy.

His fingers tickled against hard skin and wet fabric as his lungs burned. He gave a swift kick and engulfed the small body under his arms, dragging him against his chest and spiraled them upwards. They broke through the top water and he gasped as he pulled the boy upward, tilting the small head up against his shoulder so he could breath as they bobbed in the waves.

Dick shifted the boy and brushed his dark hair off his face, ignoring the feeling of those slick dark waves tickling the skin of his neck.

“C’mon, kid, breathe.” He squeezed the boy as he eyed the sandy beach far away from them.

The small body shook and then he was suddenly coughing, body hunching over and Dick had to lift him higher so he wouldn’t fall back into the rushing water.

“Let me go, you insolent peasant!” Dick could barley soak in the words against the ringing in his ears, his face pounding against the backhand blow that had been delivered to his face.

He almost dropped the thrashing boy in shock when rage consumed him. He growled as he manhandled the little brat into a one-armed hold, ignoring how much water he was forced to swallow as they were treading against the waves. The kid tried to kick and bit his arm, drawing blood, all the while curses flew from his lips and he hurled them like well-aimed knives.

“Touch me again and you’ll-”

Dick, finally had the kid pinned, dunked him beneath the waves and held him there as another wave crashed into the back of his head. He counted slowly and waited until the kids thrashing weakened before dragging him back up to gasp air.

“-kill you!”

He forced him back down.

“-whore’s son-”

And again.

“-your head for this!”

And again.

Dick watched impassively, the boy’s dark hair dragged over his face like a curtain, his mouth open as he gasped and his coughs rattled his small body against Dick’s tightly circled arms.

“Are you finished?”

The boy’s mouth clenched, his white teeth standing starkly out against his dark skin, but no smart remark came out as he let out a sharp cough.

“Good.” Dick scanned the horizon and silently cursed as he noticed how far they had been drawn away from Gotham’s shores. They’d have to spend the night in the caves. If they could get there.

Dick glanced at the now quiet and sullen boy clutched to him, his chin dragging in the water, face still covered by his hair.

“We’re too far out to make it back to the beach tonight. We’ll have to wait it out until the morning. You can either swim with me or I can drop you here and let you drown.”

He felt the boy’s body tighten as he gave a single nod and Dick slowly released him, not letting him get too far out of reach. He watched the boy tread and nodded slightly. “Okay. Follow me. Don’t get too far away, with the Sun setting I’ll never be able to find you.”

“Fine.” The boy’s voice ground out between gritted teeth.

Dick gave a winning smile and turned, heading toward the caves where Bruce used to take them as children. It should still be stocked with kindling enough for a fire to get warm. He hoped.

Dick remembered that swim. How he always kept the boy in the corner of his eye. He took a deep breath of the overly warm air, Alfred’s needles jabbing beneath his skin as he tried not to wriggle. He had not handled finding out that the boy he had saved had been Damian well. Not at all.

When they had finally reached the caves they’d had to climb. He’d made the boy go first.

They’d both collapsed when they’d finally made it to the cave’s open mouth and wriggled their way to the very back. Dick had been grateful that they had left some blankets, a spark and some dry wood in the back.

He threw one of the smaller blankets at the boy and heard him catch it. “Take off your clothes. We’ll put them closer to the mouth of the cave so they’ll be a little dryer tomorrow and you won’t catch a cold.”

He quickly pulled his own over his head and unwrapped his chiton. “C’mon kid or I’ll come over there and take them off.”

He heard a quick scrambling and gave a quiet chuckle until the balled up clothes smacked him in the face.

“Brat.” He snarled as he narrowed his eyes at the darkened corner where the boy should be. His father should teach him some manners. Or beat them into him. A sly voice slithered into his mind. 

He shook his head and went to lay the clothes closer to the mouth of the cave, careful to put rocks on them to make sure they wouldn’t fly out in the middle of the night.

When he made it back he blinked in surprise at the boy huddled beside the fire, his face partially engulfed in blackness.

The boy noted his surprised expression and made a sour face. “I did not feel like freezing to death waiting for you to return.”

The boy’s haughty voice made Dick want to hold his head back under the water, but instead he forced out a compliment, “Not bad.”

“Tt.” 

Dick sat down, wrapping his own blanket around him and studied the boy sitting across from him. “Why were you out so far? A dare?”

The boy hunched slightly, his face turned downwards, the blanket dragged over the top of his head.

Dick let out a sigh and gave a slight smile, scooting closer to the angry child and nudged his shoulder. “C’mon. We all do stupid things. This time it didn’t turn out too badly.” He’d ignore the throbbing side of his face and the bite mark which would likely scar. He bumped their shoulders again, “C’mon you can tell me.”

“No.”

Dick sighed. This entire kid’s personality was sour. “Don’t worry I won’t tell your parents.”

He could feel the kid smile, sharp like a knife, “I don’t have any.”

Dick winced. Great. Really stepped into it there. “Your guardians then. I’m sure they’re worried about you.”

The kid gave a snort, face never leaving the fire, “They’re not worried. Probably going to be disappointed tomorrow that I’m not dead.”

Something cold wrapped around Dick’s stomach as he watched the boy, wide eyed. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” The boy shrugged, “It’s true.”

Dick grabbed the boy’s shoulders and shook him slightly, “Don’t ever say that! If you died somebody’s world would just stop.” His mind turned thinking of Bruce, Kal El, Jason-

“You’re a fucking liar! Everyone wants me dead!”

“That’s not true!”

“Really?” The boy snarled, “Because that’s what Tim said when he pushed me off the fucking cliff!”

Dick just stopped. Tim-Tim said-He blinked and took in the kid in front of him. The dark skin bundled up beneath the old blanket, the dark hair plastered to a small face with a slightly upturned nose and high cheekbones. He slowly lifted his hand and brushed back a lank of dark hair covering the boy’s eyes. Ignoring the slight flinch he made.

Blue eyes. Cold-ice blue eyes. Bruce’s eyes.

“Damian,” He breathed. 

Damian smirked at his stunned expression, his eyes growing even colder. “Going to finish the job now? No witnesses. The perfect crime.” His smile became wrong and jagged, “Come on, Son of Gray, kill me. Finish the job your brother couldn’t do.”

Dick felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. He’d spent months avoiding this kid. He’d heard the rumors, had Alfred and Tim come to him, begging him to see him. Tim. Tim who wasn’t himself anymore. Whose eyes were shadowed and desperate, who hated Damian.

“Don’t say that.” Dick’s voice was low, almost a whisper. “Tim wouldn’t-”

Damian sneered at him, “Wouldn’t what? Be so sore about me being better than him in every way that he’d corner me and push me off a cliff? Insult me every chance he got? Wouldn’t-”

Dick’s hands were around Damian’s throat in a heartbeat and all he had to do was squeeze.

Bruce was dead. Everyone he’d loved was dead or so broken they’d might as well be corpses. Their world had shaken and they’d tried to hold everything together, were still trying to hold everything together and then this-this boy was thrown at them. Dick looked at that face, small, sneering, cold eyes.

He heard all their voices, his families and the men he led. All the confusion all the hate and uncertainty aimed and condensed in this boy. He couldn’t breathe.

He leaned back, hands unwrapping from the boy’s throat as he struggled with himself. “Don’t say that again.”

Damian slowly levered himself off the ground, fingertips dancing on the bruises beginning to form around his throat. “You’re all the same.”

Dick winced slightly and it wasn’t because of the needles digging into his back. Even now he could still hear those words echoing in his head. It still made his stomach churn in knots. He slowly turned his head so he wouldn’t disturb Alfred’s needles. He felt the sweat bead against his neck and how his body had grown sticky stuck in this overheated tent with its pots of incense to cleanse him.

He thought of Damian who, even now, was also being tattooed in preparation for their troth. Damian who was eleven and still hated him. Damian who, in a couple of hours, would be his.

He felt his body tense and Alfred waited a moment until he’d unclenched his muscles to continue his work.

After that night at the caves their other encounters hadn’t been much better. He’d returned Damian to Alfred the next morning and had noticed the naked relief on Tim’s face war with resentment as he’d watched Alfred fuss over the wet boy. He’d known then what Damian had said had been true and felt shame and fear engulf him in equal measures.

He hadn’t wanted to believe what Damian had said had been true. Hadn’t wanted to acknowledge Tim’s slide into darkness, but he couldn’t ignore this. No matter what a pain in the ass Damian was he was the last Wayne. Bruce’s son. He couldn’t allow him to die even if that meant going against his brother to do it.

He’d tried to be around Damian more, but the kid was a master at evasion. The closest he could get was watching him spar. He’d also enlisted Connor’s help with Tim.

That hadn’t lasted. Tim and Damian were too volatile together. Every moment they breathed the same air became a fight-animosity permeated not just the house but the camp as well until it exploded. 

He’d been working out hoping to corner Damian when he appeared that day, but after a couple of hours it seemed obvious that he wasn’t going to show. Dick sighed and stretched. He’d been working on his combat skills, but it wouldn’t hurt to work on the bars for a while just to make sure he didn’t get rusty.

Victor dashed into the arena, knocking over an entire spear stand as he crashed into one of the trainees, his black skin sparkled with sweat as he yelled, “Dick!”

Dick and the other warriors in the arena jogged over to Victor. Dick’s brows furrowed as he helped his friend to his feet, “What’s wrong?”

Victor’s chest heaved, his eyes wild as they looked down at him, “Tim and,” he took a deep breath, “and Damian. Fighting.”

He heard the murmurs behind him. Whispers of “Crazed. Demon. Cursed.” And he knew they weren’t directed at Tim.

He briefly closed his eyes, “Where?”

Victor showed him. The Quarry was the name they had given to the far part of the island that was nothing but steep cliff face and rocks prone to sliding. This area was a no-go zone for the youngest children and only used for extreme training that could lead to serious injuries or death.

That was where they found Connor watching the battle below.

“What’s going on, Kon?” Dick asked as he took a look over the side.

Tim and Damian were screaming at each other. They’d gone from words to illegible sounds of furry. Tim had his bo staff up in defense as Damian leaped at him with his sword.

“They’ve both lost it.” Kon said, his voice slightly shaky, “Yeah they always harass each other and trade insults. Sometimes they fight, but nothing like this. This is crazy.”

Crazy. Like pushing a kid off a cliff into the Ocean crazy. Dick thought. “What started this?”

Kon gave him a look out of the corner of his eye, slightly guilty. “We were going for a swim when we noticed the kid down there, just hacking away at air. Training.”

Probably because I was at the arena. Dick nodded for him to continue.

“Tim yelled at him to get his ass out of there. It’s dangerous. Damian called him a coward. Said something about Bruce-I don’t know I didn’t hear all of it. It set Tim off and-” He gestured helplessly toward the two fighting below.

Dick growled. Tim wasn’t stable yet. Not by a long shot. And then talking about Bruce dying?

“Okay. I’m going in. I’ll separate them.” He glanced backwards, Kon, Victor and a couple of the other warriors were standing behind him. Great. This’d be all over Gotham by the end of the night. “Vic, grab Damian. Careful he bites.” He heard a small chuckle rumble through the men, “Kon, get Tim. Hold him. We’ll get them both out in no time.” Then I’m going to kick both their asses. They know better.

They nodded and they slowly started their decent into the Quarry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging in there, everyone!  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. It was a little hard to write because the Muse was being fickle.  
> If you liked it please let me know.  
> There's some underage in this part, so if you don't like that then skip the last part.

Dick kept his eyes on the two fighting boys as he tried to keep his footing while sliding down the steep decent, noting Victor and Connor’s curses as they followed him.

Tim and Damian weren’t speaking, their voices shrill as they screamed and grunted at each other each time their weapons clashed.

Dick clenched his teeth as he slipped and Victor quickly caught him by his upper arm and steadied him. He gave a quick nod in acknowledgement and all three moved slightly faster, eyeing the rock walls and rumbling of the stones around them, reminding them of the danger.

Last year, before Bruce and the others had been called off, they’d been training in the Quarry and one of the men had been crushed beneath a landslide.

He wouldn’t let Tim or Damian, no matter how idiotic they were being, die in such a gruesome way. Not to mention Victor and Connor. If anything happened to any of them he didn’t know what he’d do with himself.

Their feet hit the ground silently, but Dick still felt a shift beneath his feet and a small lump of fear grew in his belly. There was no time for finesse, they had to grab the boys and get out.

Dick gave the signal and they rushed them.

Tim swung high, his bo staff hissing through the air, his eyes wild and unfocused. Damian was snarling, his sword on the upswing toward Tim’s unprotected belly.

If they got out of this Dick was taking Tim back to training. His guard was slipping badly enough that a child was able to attack him, even though it was Damian.

Kon took Tim down, arms hooking around his legs as they tangled on the ground, Tim’s staff clattering on the stones in loud stereo as the ground began to rumble even more.

Victor missed Damian, getting a slice along his arm for his efforts as he twisted away from the sharp blade and hissing child, crouching low beside Kon and a struggling Tim, dark eyes wary.

Dick barreled into Damian’s side, rolling them over the shaking ground, arms wrapping around thrashing limbs, hands trying to clamp over the twisting sword handle as the boy screamed.

“Gods damn you, Damian, stop it!” Dick’s voice rose over the grumble of rocks as the boy bit into his arm and he cursed.

He finally wrestled the sword away and kicked it toward Victor who quickly slid it into his wide belt.

Kon had Tim wrapped around his side and was nervously watching the sides of the Quarry as they tried to make their way to where the other men had dangled a rope for quick retrieval.

“Go! Kon, take Tim and go!” Dick’s voice was swallowed by the loud roar of angry earth as it slid and bent beneath their feet.

Dick cursed as he tried to keep his balance, Damian flaying in his arms, his teeth buried deep in his skin not helping in the slightest.

Damian bit harder into his forearm, teeth sinking and pulling at his flesh.

Dick yelped and hit the boy upside the head with his fist.

He felt Damian’s head snap sideways and his body fall lax for a moment giving him enough time to swing his body over his shoulder and make a quick dash for Victor who was still waiting for him, sliding sideways as everything shook.

He should have seen it coming.

He knew who this was. He had dealt with him before.

He should have _known_ -

A swift kick to his sternum sent him to his knees, gasping for air and a quick backhand swipe to his head had him on the ground before he knew what had happened.

He didn’t hear Victor. He couldn’t see the others as they were drawn away up the side of the Quarry’s walls.

All he could see was Damian.

He stood there, balance perfect on the plunging ground, chest heaving, dark skin streaked with dirt and sweat, clothes torn and slightly bloody.

His eyes blazed.

His mouth was moving, but Dick couldn’t hear the words. All he could see were those slightly slanted eyes that tore at him. Burned _through_ him.

_Bruce-_

The world was falling.

The rocks fell from the sky, loosened by the quakes and boulders crashed and rolled, hurtling toward that small, enraged boy.

He moved.

He didn’t feel anything in that moment, just the wind as he flung himself at Damian, wrapped his arms around his waist and hurled him into Victor’s arms.

He saw those blue eyes go wide, mouth open and face frozen in a moment of true surprise.

He felt the ground beneath his feet give and saw his death reflected in Victor’s eyes as his name was screamed from multiple lips, but swallowed in the darkness of the heavens crashing atop him.

_Maybe now he could see his father again._

“Richard, turn over now.” Alfred’s voice broke through his revere and he blinked.

He must have dozed off with all the warmth accumulated in the tent and heavy incense.

He groaned at the sharp pain that crawled from the center of his back and danced up his shoulder blades and to the top of his shoulders.

He shook his head and winced as he slowly turned over, not enjoying the sting of wounded flesh against the pallet. He didn’t know if he could be still for the rest of the marking.

He looked into Alfred’s eyes as he squirmed and stopped under the older man’s stern gaze. He felt the child again under those gray eyes.

“We are halfway through, Son of Gray.”

Dick let out a sigh and nodded, “Sure, Alfie. Whatever you need.”

He smiled when he heard the other man chuckle as he picked up his right arm and continued the blue and silver tattooed line from his shoulder downwards toward his fingers.

Dick closed his eyes again and let himself drift.

That was the same arm he had broken in the landslide in the Quarry.

They’d had to dig him out and somehow he had remained mostly unscathed. A broken right arm, pulled muscles, some bruising and a large gash upside his head. He had been lucky.

Some small part of him wished he hadn’t been.

When he had looked into Tim’s strained blue eyes, Kon’s weary face, Alfred who looked like he’d aged another hundred years and even Damian, his small pugish face scrunched up in a furrowed scowl, he felt slightly guilty for wishing he hadn’t woken up.

After the Quarry incident things had been calmer.

Kon had taken Tim to his tent for ‘space’ leaving Dick to recuperate under Alfred’s watchful gaze and Damian’s hovering shadow.

He’d been surprised at Damian’s behavior more than anything.

The boy no longer wandered off by himself or outright tried to pick fights with Tim. He skulked around their small house, hiding in darkened corners and flitting in the rafters, mostly around his room.

Dick could barley rest, hyper aware of the boy’s movements and just waiting for a glint of his sword or a small hurling knife from the shadows. He was restless and his arm itched. Alfred wouldn’t let him out of his room while his knee was still healing and he couldn’t settle.

He snapped, “That’s enough, Damian. Get down here. Now.”

There wasn’t even a rustle as the boy dropped down, landing precariously on the ledge of his bed, body poised, head tilted down and away. If he didn’t know better he would have called it ashamed.

But he did, “What do you _want_ , Damian?” He didn’t try to be imposing he was on the last kernel of sanity. He couldn’t hold himself together anymore. He was restless he couldn’t _move_ and this kid wouldn’t let him _rest_.

Damian didn’t move from his perch by Dick’s feet, though his shoulders seemed to hunch even more, “Tt. Nothing.”

Dick huffed as he combed his hands through his hair, his knee throbbing slightly. It wasn’t healing as fast as he’d have liked, “Then why? Why are you constantly flitting around up there?” he waved his fingers towards the beams above them, “Are you planning on the best time to end me? To finish me off? Because if you are just do it now and be done with it. Then maybe I’d get some rest!”

Damian’s head tilted upwards as Dick flopped backwards on his pillows, letting out a soft groan.

“Is,” a soft sound of licking lips, “Is that what you think of me?”

Dick winced at the soft, almost agonized voice as rolled his head to get a better look at the child before him. He couldn’t make out any particular facial features through the darkness of the room, though the moon peaking through the opened window highlighted his silhouette.

“That I-that after you saved my life that I would repay that with treachery?”

A wince of pain needled his chest because yes, that’s exactly what he’d thought.

“I know I have been…difficult,” Dick snorted, “But I know honor. My mother taught me that, not that you even care.”

Damian slid off the ledge of the bed and rounded the mattress to where Dick was laying, eyeing him warily.

“My mother…” The boy took a deep breath and continued with a minute shake of his head and Dick felt his heart clench, “I owe you a life-debt, Grayson, I do not take that lightly.”

There was a glint in the air and before he could make more than a sound Damian had sliced open his palm with the curved blade.

Dick made a sound deep in his throat. This kid couldn’t-that was _ritual_ -he couldn’t be-,”Damian-”

Damian’s right hand covered his mouth as the words of Life Oath tumbled forward and he tried to struggle, but Damian placed a knee into his broken arm and he let out a cry under that calloused hand.

Damian drew forward, words still dripping from his mouth as he continued the pledge and Dick grabbed his right wrist in order to remove the hand covering his mouth, but the small fingers dug into his skin and remained even as the boy drew forward, throwing his leg over as he straddled his waist, reaching his left hand out.

Dick slapped his hand away and growled.

Damian didn’t even bother hissing at him as he stained his mouth with his own blood and reached to do the same to his.

Dick gasped in a breath as his other hand released his mouth and he pushed his good hand into the boy’s chest, “Damian, don’t-”

Anger sparked in the boy’s eyes and he grasped Dick’s wrist and shoved it above his head and smeared his left hand across his mouth as Dick sputtered and tried to turn away.

“Dami-”

His words were hot on his mouth before the dry lips pressed down on his own and he groaned as lithe legs dug into his bandaged knee.

He pressed his tongue against the inside of his teeth as Damian pushed down harder on him, his lips dragging across his own as little strands of hair tickled his face. He tried to turn away, but the boy just followed. He couldn’t open his mouth to protest or else he would risk ingesting Damian’s blood and that would seal the Oath.

He felt more than heard Damian’s growl vibrate in his throat and felt the boy’s hips move down on his own.

His eyes popped open and he looked into those sharp, dark pools as Damian started a rotating motion, sliding slightly downward and back up in small, dragging circles. Damian released his hand and grasped at his shoulders for better purchase to grind his thighs.

Dick felt his heartbeat quicken and drew a sharp breath through his nose. The motions were rough and more exploratory than actually practiced as if he were mimicking something that he’d seen. Which begged the question where in all the gods’ names had he learned this?

He felt warmth begin to burn in his belly, his legs languid and hot and he reached out to grasp the boy’s hips in an attempt to stop him, though their lips were still melded together. The Oath would be invalidated if their lips released before Dick took in the blood, signaling his acceptance of the pledge.

His fingers hooked onto the edge of Damian’s chiton. He dug into the soft material, nails pricking through the fabric to catch the moving skin underneath. Somehow his grip turned from one of removal to one of encouraging consent.

The boy’s movements turned from hasty to slow and languid, small circles between deep movements forward to engage his flaccid cock.

He felt small fingers dip beneath his clothing and grasp his penis behind the moving body above him and he gasped letting Damian delve deep into his mouth, their tongues intertwining until he could taste blood. It was the taste of his defeat.

Damian abruptly sat up, Dick had to restrain himself from following, his body still half enthralled, “And so it shall be for all time, until the end of time, least my debt is paid.”

Damian swept an arm across his mouth, wiping away the blood, his eyes dark and hooded as he looked down at Dick whose breath came away in deep pants. He looked incredulously up at the boy sitting on his chest. The little shit had tricked him.

He wasn’t sure if Damian gave a crooked smirk or if it was a trick of the light as he dismounted and slid off the bed, heading for the door, “I was taught to always pay my debts, Grayson. Be prepared.”

He barely took in the sound of the door clicking shut as he let his good hand slap himself in the face, cursing his immobility. He had no idea how to handle this kid. None.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And as always, drop me a line at my tumblr: http://violetscythe.tumblr.com/
> 
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